


Crossbow Bolts

by protectoroffaeries



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fics [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Combat, F/F, Ficlet Prompt Fill, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: "Fight now, flirt later!"





	Crossbow Bolts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt from @indigoire: For the ficlet prompt, Beau saving Yasha from an arrow, or catching her in her arms. Originally posted @nottmygoblindaughter.

Beau barely has time to wonder how they always manage to get themselves into these situations before blades are clashing, bolts are flying, and spells are lighting up the night sky. She goes into fight mode, dodges a crossbow bolt headed straight for her head, and moves into find a foe among her friends.

It’s utter chaos. Beau almost trips over Nott as the little goblin darts passed, a crackle of arcane energy curling around her fingers before she blends back into the darkness. She watches Fjord draw his falchion, but he doesn’t take the initiative and run into the fight, so Beau takes her eyes off him and keeps moving. If she’s learned anything since she left home, it’s that best thing to do to keep moving.

Beau quickly finds herself toe-to-toe with a human wielding a shortsword and dances out of his blade’s range before getting in close and socking him in the face. He yelps, and she elbows him, tries to get him to drop his weapon, but he doesn’t, so she keeps throwing punches. Her senses narrow to  _this_  fight, and this one only.

The blood roars in her ears as the adrenaline pumps in her veins.  _Nothing but this._  Beau’s focus on this man and his next move are so strong that she nearly misses Molly’s shout.  

“Yasha!”

Beau falls back, out of the shortsword’s range, and glances in Molly’s direction, but he’s locked in combat with another idiot with a sword, scimitars flashing, sparkling like a gaudy jewel in the low light. Beau wonders if she heard him right and looks around for Yasha, and-

 _Holy shit._ There are at least three crossbow bolts lodged in Yasha’s chest, with blood slowly pouring from their wounds, soaking the front of her tunic. She’s looking down at them as if in shock. A quick look around tells Beau that there’s more coming for her.

“Fuck.” Beau completely ignores the advances of the swordsman she was fighting, instead sprinting to close the distance between herself and Yasha. She puts her hands up as she slides home in front of Yasha, narrowly catching one bolt that would’ve taken out her eye. She gets nailed  in her chest and her shoulder with two others, and they make her stumble back, but she keeps from collapsing onto Yasha.

“Beau,” Yasha says.

Beau lets her head lull back and smiles ( _remember what Fjord said about smiling?_ ) up at Yasha. The bolts don’t hurt much right this second, but they’re going to feel like a bitch later. Yasha’s eyes are wide, her mouth is open, and Beau would swear she’s paler than usual. “Yasha.”

“Why did you do that?”

Beau’s smile wavers. The bolts kind of  _do_  hurt right this second, actually. “You looked like you needed some help.”

Yasha stares at her. “Don’t use your body as a shield,” she murmurs eventually, and there’s something soft in her tone that makes Beau a little dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the blood loss.

She opens her mouth to explain how she only meant to catch the one bolt and didn’t stop to take notice of the other two, but Molly’s shouting again: “Fight now, flirt later!”

And as much as Beau wants to flip him the bird, the obnoxious bastard has a point, so Beau gives Yasha another little smile before she throws herself back into the fray. The last thing she notices is the way Yasha shakes her head, dark braids fanning out, and lifts her greatsword.


End file.
